


The Blizzard

by literature_and_ocean_waves



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men (Original Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, also. lots of this story came from my need as a woman to see women supporting each other, childbirth so be warned, especially a team of women of color, i really like janos being storm's mentor ok, part of my au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 10:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10242467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literature_and_ocean_waves/pseuds/literature_and_ocean_waves
Summary: "Mystique stepped out onto the front lawn, watching. As was usual these days, her stomach came out first and then the rest of her followed obediently. Blue, bare feet crunched on frozen grass and powder. "





	

**Author's Note:**

> So it almost never snows here. And today it did, which left me a giddy idiot. So I wrote this. Hope ya like it! Cheers!

The snow seemed to be coming down in buckets now. Big, fat, fluffy flakes swirled and twirled down from the sky. The first real snow storm of the season. Early December did always bring good snows. 

Mystique stepped out onto the front lawn, watching. As was usual these days, her stomach came out first and then the rest of her followed obediently. Blue, bare feet crunched on frozen grass and powder. 

Many of the children had abandoned their studies for the afternoon and instead were tumbling out in the snow together. Mystique smiled at their happy, ridiculous shrieking. 

Off in their own little corner of the yard, Storm and Riptide were sitting together, legs crossed and attention focused. Mystique walked over, careful to be quiet and not disturb their lesson. Both teacher and student, due to their more tropical heritages, were bundled up tightly against the cold. Mystique, as always, was naked. Her tough, thick scales were capable of keeping her at optimal temperatures no matter the weather. 

Speaking of weather, Storm seemed to be collecting some of it now. She held up her small, elegant, dark brown hands up into the air. Slowly, bits of snow began to peel away from its fellows and stabilized into a little, translucent, floating ball. Riptide created a tiny whirlwind in his palm. He smiled kindly at Storm and held it out for her. Storm smiled back, if a little nervous, and took it into her own hands. She began to thread the snow from her ball into the whirlwind. After a moment or two, she was holding a tiny tornado made of snow. 

Mystique grinned with quiet pride. She knew enough about weather to understand how truly challenging that must have been for Storm. She would have to be keeping the snow as light, frozen water while still mixing it with the warm, springy air of the cyclone. A test of temperature more than anything. 

Storm bounced the little snow-nado in her hands, pulling at the top to make it stretch and grow. Riptide chuckled, ruffling her hair affectionately. Finally, Storm stood up and held her little creation out over the lawn. She leaned her face in and blew into it, scattering the snow and wind back into their usual shapes. She turned back to the adults and beamed, triumphant in her lesson. 

Mystique clapped in praise. “Well done, little one,” she said. 

“Thank you,” Storm replied and bowed dramatically. Her theatrics were undercut a little by the fact that her thick coat made movement stilted and awkward, but she just ignored it. Mystique clapped some more. 

Riptide got to his feet and scooped up his pupil, twirling her around over his head. Storm squealed in joy, laughing and lifting out her arms in mock flight. Riptide laughed with her, creating small, but strong, whirlwinds that pushed Storm up a few feet into the air. She soared through the snow, expression blissful. Mystique could not help but think that Storm would make a very strong flyer one day, when she was no longer a skinny, ten year-old. 

Riptide removed his winds and Storm dropped into his arms. She hugged him tight, basking in the happiness shared by a teacher and student at the completion of a new learning. Riptide rested his chin on the top of her head, rumbling with love. He said nothing, as usual, but his stance revealed his thoughts all the same. 

“This is my little girl,” they said. “My baby. My kindred spirit of whirlwinds and rain clouds.”

Mystique thought it was beautiful. 

Riptide set Storm back on the ground and she hurried over to Mystique, eager for more hugs. Mystique was all too happy to oblige, though she was a bit grateful that Storm was careful to only hug her gently and from her upper waist. One of her famous bear hugs might have been enough to accidentally crush Mystique’s poor child. 

Instead, Storm just cuddled against her side, unbothered by the roughness of her scales. Riptide approached them and gestured to head back inside. The snow was coming even heavier now. Mystique nodded and called for the small pack of youngsters chasing each other about. They whined a bit at having to go inside, but obeyed at Mystique’s firm expression. 

Soon enough, coats and mittens and snow boots were all drying by the nearest fire and the children had all dispersed to play elsewhere. Except for Storm. She stuck on as Raven’s tiny shadow, excited to have some unspoiled time with her hero. Raven ran her hand through Storm’s thick braids as they walked to the kitchen, Riptide a step behind them. There they found Angel, stirring a sauce pan on the stove-top. She smiled when they came in, dragonfly wings buzzing a bit they way they always did when she was feeling cheerful. 

“Hey, guys,” she said. “Want some hot coco?”

Storm jumped at the opportunity, head bobbing in excitement. Angel snorted, amused, and poured her a cup from the sauce pan, complete with little marshmallows. 

“Careful, Ororo,” she said. “It’s very hot. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Storm paid her no never-mind, conjuring up a tiny gust of cold wind that cooled her coco for her. Then she drank it, looking right at Angel and smirking in a way only children can get away with. Angel threw up her hands in dramatic, faux exasperation and went about fixing cups for the adults, muttering in Spanish. 

Mystique drank her own coco slowly, rubbing her lower back between alternating sips. She was a bit tired and sore, but deplored the idea of sitting on one of those uncomfortable kitchen stools. To be perfectly honest, she was not even sure her hips could bend enough now to sit on them at all. 

Halfway through her coco, there was a soft crack and a rush of air, accompanied by the smell of sulfur. Azazel appeared at her side, as quiet as the rest of their little group. She was grateful for his presence though and leaned into his broad chest, warm and comforted. Angel made him a cup, though Mystique was pretty sure that she had put vodka in along with the coco. 

They drank their warm beverages in companionable silence, watching the snow outside the windows. It was coming down even harder, a thick blanket of falling white. Mystique was glad that they had gotten the kids inside when they did. This weather was a bit much for play, even for a horde of mutant children. 

Storm swung her scrawny legs back and forth on the stool, but was otherwise patient and quiet. Mystique was mildly impressed. It was not every child who could sit still with a bunch of adults. Storm may have been the eldest of all the students in the house, but she was still so young. Mystique drank more of her coco. 

It was not pain that alerted her. Just a kind of fluttering. Mystique closed her eyes and cast her consciousness down deep into her body. She was a shapeshifter. She knew every cell, every bit of tissue, every organ that made up her form. And right now one organ in particular was asking for attention. 

Her uterus was moving and so was the child within it. Not contracting, not yet. And still no pain. But everything was moving into place. This was the stage being set before the actual performance began. 

Mystique inhaled deeply through her nose to calm herself and called out with her mind, just as she had been taught since childhood. Like a hand warmly wrapping around her mind, Charles responded. 

“Hello, Raven,” he said, their link projecting that he was in his study, reading. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi, Charles,” Mystique replied, ignoring his use of her old name and trying to stay relaxed. “Could you do me a favor please?”

“Anything, my dear,” he said. “What is it?”

Mystique mentally gulped. 

“Call the hospital.”

Surprise colored itself over their telepathic bond. “You’re in labor?” Charles asked. He did not sound scared, just clarifying. Mystique nodded. 

“The early stages, I think,” she said. “No contractions yet, but I think that they will start soon.” She could feel her uterus and birth canal synchronizing, like well-trained soldiers. 

“Okay,” Charles said. “I will put in a call and let the doctors know that they need to come down here. Just keep breathing, alright?” He was not flustered or fearful, as many men tended to be when a baby was on its way. But Charles had never been one to panic at perfectly normal medical situations. Also, the fact that Charles had birthed three babies himself, one of them only about two months ago, may have been helping his calmness, but that was neither here nor there. 

Mystique sent him a thank you over the link, as well as her usual affection for him, and then severed it so he could make the phone call from his office phone. 

She looked over at her friends, who were all finishing up their coco and oblivious to what has just happened. She said nothing, not wanting to make them nervous until the doctors were well on their way. She felt her child wriggle a bit and she rubbed the spot, soothing for the both of them. It was going to be fine. 

The lights went out. 

It was not noticeable at first, as it would have been at night. Grey, wintery light from the late afternoon still poured in from the windows and it was only until Mystique looked at the kitchens overhead light that she realized something had happened.  
The storm must have knocked out the power. 

Her heart beat increased, thudding hard in her chest. Calm down, calm down, she thought to herself. It’s okay. Hank has that big generator thing that he made for situations like this. The power will be back in half an hour. Tops. 

Mystique kept her thoughts a string of reassurances, not noticing when Charles and Erik walked into the kitchen together.  
“Raven,” Charles said, voice pulling her out of her own mind. His expression was serious, frowning. Mystique immediately understood. 

“You couldn’t call the hospital, could you?” she said. It was not a question. Charles just shook his head. 

“No,” he replied. “The phone lines are down. The storm must have knocked everything out.”

Azazel had perked up a little at the word hospital and he looked over at Mystique expectantly. She nodded and he took her hand. “So we cannot contact the doctors to come down here, then?” he asked. They had all agreed several months ago that Mystique would have the baby in the mansion. She could not keep her blonde disguise intact during the birth and hospitals were too crowded to risk exposure.

“Even if we could call, I do not think that they could make it down here,” Erik said, face grim. “I just heard on the radio. All the roads are being shut down until at least tomorrow. This blizzard is enormous and the local authorities are pushing for everyone to stay indoors.” He looked apologetically at Mystique. “I could potentially still drive you to the hospital though. My powers should keep the car on the road.” 

Mystique felt queasy at the thought. Driving with Erik was hectic enough on a normal day. Driving with Erik in a blizzard while in labor was a nightmare. She rapidly shook her head. 

“I can’t,” she said. “I trust you, Erik, but it’s too much.”

Erik did not argue. He trusted her judgment and, more importantly, he was a family man at heart. He would not risk her child’s life. 

Storm was watching the adults with slightly fearful curiosity. “So Mystique is gonna have her baby today?” she asked. Mystique murmured an affirmative. 

“Yes,” she replied. “Though at the moment the logistics are not that good.”

Storm looked thoughtful for a moment, then jumped off her stool and walked out towards the back door. Mystique followed her. “What are you doing, Storm?” she asked. It was getting dangerous out there. 

Storm stood on the back patio, arms raised. Her big brown eyes became white with her power and, for a moment, the snow stopped. It was like someone had paused a film, the snow hovering up in the air and the wind trying to push against it, clearing away the clouds. Mystique inhaled her breath in awe. 

But then, like a rubber band that had snapped, everything rushed back again. The snow tumbled down from the sky and the winds blasted icy cold down onto the ground. Storm sunk to her knees, exhausted and defeated. Riptide picked her up and carried her back inside. 

“I am sorry,” Storm said, looking crestfallen. “I tried to clear away the blizzard. But it’s just too big…” She whimpered and gripped Riptide’s hands. 

Mystique patted her arm, gentle and soft. “It’s not your fault, sweetie,” she said. “You did your best.”

Erik was looking at Storm thoughtfully, jaw shifting the way he always did when he was thinking hard. “Storm,” he said. “I know you cannot get rid of the blizzard entirely. But could you keep it at bay while we drive?”

Storm pursed her lips, considering. “Maybe,” she said. “But I don’t know if I could do it the whole way to the hospital.” She looked at Erik, nervous. “And even if I could, what if people saw us? A car driving along and wrapped up in a snow-proof bubble? It’s really risky.”

Mystique had to admire Storm’s pragmatism. Even at such a young age, she always saw the big picture. 

Erik agreed, nodding. “Alright,” he said, parsing out his words. “So the doctors cannot drive here and we cannot drive to them.” He turned to Azazel. “What about teleporting?”

Azazel shrugged his broad shoulders, his hands on Mystique protectively. “Da,” he said. “I can easily get there and back.” Erik opened his mouth to say something, but Azazel cut him off. “But I do not think I should teleport Mystique there. It may not be good for baby.”

Mystique blanched at his words. He was right. Just the thought of being smooshed through the teleportation process, even if it was for only a second or two, left her feeling weak. 

“No,” she said. “No teleporting.”

Just then, her body sent out another alert. Again, there was no pain. Not yet. But the message was clear. Her contractions would start very soon. And even if she could will her cells to make them less painful, they still signaled the inevitable. Her baby was coming and needed attention now. 

“What if I take Charles and teleport to the hospital?” Azazel was saying. “He could convince some doctors to leave and then we teleport back.”

That seemed like a better plan, but there were a lot of risks for them being spotted. Also, how would they explain on the records how the doctors had moved when no one was allowed to be on the streets? But it was their only option, so maybe…

“Let’s save that option as a last resort,” said Angel, speaking up for the first time. She had put away all the supplies from making coco and was rolling up her sleeves for some reason. 

“What do you suggest instead, Angel,” Charles asked, looking a bit perplexed. Angel took a deep breath and spoke. 

“I will do it,” she said. “I will deliver Mystique’s baby.”

The whole room stared at her, stunned at her strange announcement.

“You are not a doctor,” Azazel said, not judgmental just confused. Angel shook her head, black hair twisting as she moved. 

“No,” she replied. “But I have delivered babies before.”

Everyone just stared some more. 

“You have?” Mystique asked, shocked. Angel had never told her this. 

Angel shrugged nonchalantly. “When I was a kid, my aunt went into labor and we didn’t have the money for a doctor. All the women in the neighborhood helped. It was kind of a common thing to birth babies at home.”

“That was the way it was back in my village, too,” Storm piped up. “I was too little to help, but all the women would gather around and help the mom until the baby got here.”

Erik was nodding. “It was the same in my community, too. Long ago.” He frowned. “But, Angel, have you ever been the lead midwife in childbirth? Because community help is one thing, but most of us have no idea what to.”

“I have midwifed before,” Angel replied. “A friend of mine had a baby out of wedlock, so we had to keep it a secret. I helped her birth in her room. We gave the baby to an orphanage, but he was perfectly healthy when he was born.”

This was all sounding a lot better to their other alternatives. Angel was clearly terrified, but she knew what to do. And time was running out. The first contraction hit Mystique hard, as she had not been paying attention to her body as she listened to the ongoing debates. She gritted her teeth and groaned in pain. Azazel held her upright. 

“Okay,” she said, riding out the pain. “New plan. Angel gets this kid outta me. If things get serious, Azazel and Charles can get me a real doctor. Secrecy be damned, we will figure it out later.”

Everyone nodded in agreement and Angel took charge. 

“Azazel,” she said, sounding rather like an army commander. “Take Mystique upstairs. You will be our got-to guy for bringing supplies. Erik, you go talk to Hank about getting the power back on. Even if we can’t phone anyone until tomorrow, we need lights. Nobody wants to birth in the dark. Janos, you go check in with the others and make sure all the kids are safe and warm. Charles, you go with him, but keep your telepathy in gear. You will be our communicator for the house. Also. Tell Moira and Emma to come out of whatever corner they are making out in and meet us upstairs. We need all the women to do this together.”

Storm raised her hand, like she did in class. “Am I part of the women, too?” she asked. 

Angel smiled. “Yes,” she replied. “You will be a big help, Ororo.”

Charles stepped forward, looking a bit like a mother hen. “Isn’t she a bit young?” he asked. “She is not even an adolescent yet.”

Angel was already gathering some supplies from the kitchen. “I was her age when my aunt had her baby and I helped,” she said. “Besides,” she smirked at Charles. “In this house full of boys, I need all the female assistance I can get. Now, you guys hop to it. Dismissed.”

Everyone scattered to their assigned duties. Had Mystique been in a different state of mind, she might have been amazed at Angel’s ability to organize so quickly. For right now, she had other things to worry about. The pain was not bad just yet and she could still will her nerves to become muted. They would let her know what to do, but without any of the excess agony. 

Azazel walked her upstairs to her childhood bedroom. No one had said anything about it, but it seemed fitting to have the baby there. Comforting, really. Calming. And if Mystique ever needed calm and comfort, it was now. 

She sat down on the edge of the bed, holding Azazel’s hand. Within moments, Angel had arrived with a container of water and a bunch of towels, Storm loyally at her side, and Moira and Emma hot on her heels. They shooed Azazel out, but told him to stay close in case they needed more supplies. Teleporting meant short wait times. 

Moira got to work setting things up at Angel’s instructions and Emma took Mystique’s hand, surprisingly kind. “Hey, sugar,” she said softly. “You ready for this?”

Mystique just grunted, pain and fear making her sarcastic. “Oh yes,” she drawled. “Should be delightful.”

Emma snorted and just patted her hand. 

Over the next few hours, the five women settled into a sort of rhythm. The afternoon faded into night. The power came back on as promised and the house stayed warm. Due to psychic chat between Emma and Charles, the children were all safe and happy downstairs, playing games and having food by the fire. All were eagerly awaiting the arrival of the house’s newest mutant. 

Angel stayed down by Mystique’s feet most of the time, checking her progress. Storm was always with her, listening to her explanations and learning. She sang a little to help the time pass, songs about birth and new life that she remembered from her village as a child. Before things had gotten bad and she had been rescued nearly four years ago by the Brotherhood. 

Emma and Moira stayed on either sides of the bed, close to Mystique and holding each of her hands. They spoke soothingly, moping sweat from her brow with a towel. Occasionally, Emma would send out a telepathic message to Azazel, who was hovering just outside the door, that they needed more towels or water. He would fetch them and she would go to him in the hallway, delivering any news they had, though it was almost the same message each time: progress is slow, be patient. 

Outside, the blizzard continued to rage, the winds howling at volumes only Mystique could match, when one of her contractions hit. She still was keeping the pain down as best she could, but as the night dragged on, her powers weakened and she was stuck doing what women in her position had been doing for millennia: going with the pain and letting it tell her what was coming. Moira and Emma were especially helpful during these moments, letting Mystique squeeze their hands until it felt as if bones would break. Moira’s CIA training and Emma’s diamond powers had never been more useful and neither of them even winced when Mystique did this, for which she was very grateful. 

After what felt like an eternity of pain and pauses, Mystique felt something shift. 

“I…,” she choked out. “I need to…”

Angel squeezed her thigh in reassurance, holding up both of Mystique’s long legs with Storm. At her calculation, and her own body’s fierce orders, Mystique bore down with all her might, screaming as loudly as she could. 

It was a lot, but it wasn’t enough quite yet. Mystique could feel that much, even without Angel giving her instructions. So she panted a bit, catching her breath. Moira wiped away the sweat, murmuring kindness. 

Angel gave her a smile. “You’ve almost got this, Mystique,” she said. “Just give me a bit more and then you can sleep.”

Sleep. That felt like something long lost to the ends of time. Still.

She pushed with everything she had, like so many, many women had before her. Then, all at once, everything just sort of gave. Just as quickly as it had all begun, it was over and a high pitched wail sang in harmony with Mystique’s own cries. 

She collapsed onto the pillows like a rag doll, her new baby’s crying ringing in her ears. Emma planted a big, and surprisingly affectionate, kiss on her forehead and Mystique was pretty sure she saw some tears on that porcelain face. But she might have just imagined it in her exhausted delirium. 

Besides. She had better things to look at. 

Angel was holding up a squirming, slimy, little creature, who was whimpering lowly at all the fuss. Storm grinned, pretty white teeth shining against ebony skin. “It’s a boy!” she announced. 

A boy. A little boy. Mystique melted into the bed. “Let me see him,” she whispered, voice as fragile as she felt. 

Angel cleaned him off and handed him over. He was tiny, no bigger than a little kitten. This was the creature that had made her belly so big and taken so many hours to bear? Mystique smiled. 

He was perfect. 

He had pointed ears and three fingers on each hand. His feet were sectioned into two long toes and he was covered by soft, downy, blue fur. He relaxed in her arms, maybe sensing that he was safe and looked up at her with bright, golden eyes. His tail, exactly like Azazel’s only a dark blue, wrapped around his middle. Perhaps it was how he was used to holding himself from his days in Mystique’s womb. 

She nuzzled him and he cooed, a soft, sweet sound that made her heart feel as if it were made of the fluffiest clouds. 

Storm smiled down at him. She looked as tired as Mystique felt, but just as happy and brave. 

“He’s blue,” she said after a few minutes. “Like you.”

“Yes,” Raven replied, petting the darker hair on his head. “Charles said it was likely that he would be blue or red, depending upon which genes are more dominant.”

Storm looked a little sheepish. “I had kinda hoped that he’d be purple,” she said. 

Mystique laughed and laughed, if only because she was so tired and the image of her baby being purple was somehow hilarious, even if it wasn’t so far off from what he actually was. The laughter was truly infectious and the whole room burst with laughing sounds of relief and joy. The baby just kind of stared at everyone, wondering what was so funny and they laughed even more. 

The women helped clean Mystique up and get the room back into shape. The storm had passed sometime within the last hour and now the sky clear and cold, with the moon shining bright and white through the curtains. 

Finally, Angel let everyone come in. Many of the children had conked out and had had to be taken to their beds, but a few had managed to stay up, like little Scott and Jean. The adults were all smiling, peering at this new mutant. Charles kissed Mystique’s cheek, practically vibrating with brotherly pride. 

Azazel came over and perched by the edge of the bed. He was silent, but Mystique could see tears in his eyes. 

“You have a son, Az,” she said, placing the drowsy baby into his big, red hands. 

Azazel held him close, studying and gentle. He shared a meaningful glance with her about the fur and they both looked at Hank in quiet curiosity. That could be sorted out later. 

Storm looked nearly dead on her feet, so Mystique patted the bed for her to climb in. She snuggled into her side, watching her new tiny teammate sleep. “What are you going to name him?” she asked, yawning heavily. 

Mystique stifled a yawn of her own, her eye lids feeling like they were made of lead. 

“Kurt,” she said. “I am going to call him Kurt.”

 

The End.


End file.
